Sunday, April 30, 2017

After the winter we've had in the Pacific Northwest, it's easy to get distracted by spring's sudden explosion. We've had hints--the scent of daphne hitting us suddenly when we turn a corner and then disappearing just as suddenly, and grape hyacinths and daffodils popping up around us.

But on a walk this morning, the sheer abundance of springtime hit me. The green of the lawns, shrubs, and new foliage on trees are unstoppable. It seems you could lean over and wring out the near-constant rain we've been under for the last six months (and which seems to still threaten!).

Clematis is eager to get in on the game, climbing over whatever sits in its path, reaching, much as we all seem to be, for as much sunlight as we can get.

But what struck me this morning were the sounds of springtime. Walking under Ladd's Addition's towering elm trees, I heard thousands--surely!--of baby birds, chirping with all they could, demanding food. I didn't see a single one, their nests hiding in the branches. I imagine there are more than enough worms this year to feed them all.

And then in the distance, I heard a little kid: "13, 14,15..." I circled the small park and saw a little boy, standing alone, his hands over his eyes, a tricycle behind him. "32, 33, 34..." Then, further around, his mother, crouching behind a bush. "Ready or not, here I come!"